


Love Lost

by LadySpartacus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Don't Judge Me, Future Fic, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm lazy, I'm trying for a happy ending, It's up to the characters, Just to clarify once more with feeling LOTS OF ANGST AND SLOW BURN, More angst, My First Fanfic, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, You Have Been Warned, also please don't bash the characters, but heavy gendrya, had to take a few plot points from the show, i don't feel like writing too many new plots to make it work, jonrya is the main ship for this fic, mainly follows book canon, no really it will be slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-01-18 15:55:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySpartacus/pseuds/LadySpartacus
Summary: She holds his heart in a cage. But he does not possess hers. He can only blame himself.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first ever fic so please be gentle with me. Mainly, I'm just really disappointed with what D&D have done to GRRM's masterpiece and the characters so this is a bit of my answer to the bad story telling they have shoved our way. If you are a Jonsa/Jonerys shipper then this isn't the fic for you. Further disclaimer as posted on my tumblr....  
> Hey Jonrya fandom, so I’ve decided to give fic writing a shot as I mentioned considering doing in another post that was calling for more Jonrya fics. I’ve written the prologue so far and will post it up on AO3 soon and announce it here with a link.
> 
> Please take note that although this will be a Jonrya fic there will be heavy, heavy Gendrya(past). So if it’s your NOTP you may wish to avoid, although, I suggest reading the prologue then deciding if you can read through it. If you decide to read it then please avoid bashing my boy, Gendry. I can also tell you to expect lots of angst but I will be aiming for a happy ending (though that’s mainly up to the characters). I will also try to keep both Jon and Gendry from being total a**holes as I don’t want them going OOC and the main thing I want to get across is how much they both truly love our girl, Arya, and I consider them both to be good guys and I heart both of them. Though they will likely have a couple of slight jerk moments it won’t be anything major. The angst will come more from introspection. And, don’t expect much in the way of smut as I don’t have much of a talent for writing it ( I may throw it in later in the story at some point)
> 
> One more thing, this will be a non-linear story so if that’s not your thing…. Well, there’s other fics. :)

_**JON** _

 

 

 

The child was nearing on five years of age and he was just as precocious and mischievous as _she,_ Jon’s wife, had been at that age. And, as it currently was the young boy just so happened to be up to no good when Jon spied him from around the corner of the hall. The boy, Eddard or little Ned as he was oft referred, was sneaking his way into his cousin’s room with what looked to be cloth full dung. A prank Jon himself had remembered helping _her_ pull on their sister; one that they had laughed about for weeks until, _she_ had been caught and punished by _her_ lady mother. The memory brought a small smile to his lips as the boy completed his task. A task no doubt brought about by _her_ , his mother, encouragement. Though, Jon suspected little encouragement was needed considering the boy’s cousin, little Catelyn, was as obnoxious as her mother had been at that age; he was glad to note she eventually grew out of it and hoped the same of the girl. Little Ned was so like his mother that Jon couldn’t help but feel all the love in the world for that little boy. The two were so similar that one could say _she_ had merely made a male copy of herself were it not for one very glaring difference…

The child, _her son_ , was entirely his father when it came to appearances. Deep blue eyes, coal black hair, and a decidedly tall stature for such a young child were permanent reminders of who the boy’s father truly was. It was not him, Jon, despite his claim to the realm; he was not the father of _her_ son. That was a title held by another, by a bastard named Gendry. A man Jon had begun to bond with _once_ , beyond the wall. All that had ended once they had returned to Winterfell from their suicidal mission. Their return and Jon’s own previous actions and actions to come had changed everything, especially his relationship with the one person he loved above all.

_ARYA_ ….

His foolishness had destroyed her once unconditional love for him. And their marriage was a marriage in name only. A way to keep her son from being a bastard, to keep her near him, and to provide the realm with a heir to the throne, his throne, without him having to marry a woman he did not love. He was King of Westeros. Legitimate. Married to the love of his life. Managed to save Westeros and his family from the threat of The Others. A king loved by his people. All that he could ever have hoped for growing up as the bastard boy whose very existence tainted the most honorable man in Westeros, the late Lord Eddard Stark.

Yet… all of that meant nothing now. It tasted of ashes without her love. A love, ruined by his own hands, that ended with the death of the bastard Baratheon.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Days of Our Li--- LOVE LOST! XD  
> The war against The Others is long over and Jon Snow is King. He has taken Arya as his Queen and they are currently raising a young son while rebuilding the kingdom. However, Jon's beloved "son" is not his but that of Arya's late lover, Gendry, and their relationship is in a dire state since the death of the Baratheon man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter came out a lot quicker than I was thinking but once I got going the words just started pouring out. Most of this story comes from little imagined scenarios that started with one in particular. A one-shot imagining of Jon playing with Arya's young son with Gendry and the young boy trying to get them together. Then came the obvious questions and from there the story just evolved in my head and ate away at me until I finally got the courage(thank you @buttercuparry ) to share it with you all.

_ **Little Ned** _

 

He watched with a rapt and horrified attention as lost wolves, undercover stags, and hidden dragons fought against savage lions, lying mockingbirds, and disloyal krakens in twin towers upon fields of snow. The captured became flayed animals and many of the rest fell one after another. Only the fallen didn’t stay fallen; they rose as dark creatures made of jagged ice, hard as diamonds. Emptiness flooded their eyes as they rose with the sole purpose of devouring wolves, lions, dragons, and the like. They did not care for the wars of the animals, only the end of life. Terrified, he ran and ran, but they rose and coming closer and closer threatening to swallow all until…

A blinding light came flaring into his sight along with a muted, familiar voice! The light quickly dissipated and his surroundings cleared as the voice became more recognizable.

“Wake up, my love…”

“It’s only a nightmare…”

“It’s okay… I’m here now… ”

“Nothing will hurt you… “

It was with this last statement (a _promise_ to be certain) that he finally woke. It was the allure of his favorite voice. A voice that always held a smile and a vow of uncompromising love even when it was scolding him. His mother’s voice….

“Mother!!” He exclaimed with a sob and tears in his eyes that made to spill as he jumped into her arms! “Mother, they’re coming! They’re going to get me! I’m scared! Please don’t let them get me!!!” His words were full blown sobs now and his cries rough.

“Who is!? Who’s coming to get you???”

“The monsters!!!! The ice monsters!!! Don’t let them get me!!!!” He cried out and clung to his mother all the tighter.

“Aww, my precious little bull… It’s alright. It was only a bad dream. There’s nothing to fear. The monsters disappeared long ago. See?” She prompted him to look around. “There’s no more monsters,” she soothed him, rubbing circles on his back and pulling him closer. “And even if there were I would never let them near you.”

Ned peeked out from the crook of his mother’s neck and took a quick look around. There were no fields of snow, no wolves fighting lions, and most importantly, _no ice monsters_! Instead, he was simply in his room wrapped in his mother’s loving embrace. His little body begun to relax and his sobs grew softer as he calmed down.

“There, there. That’s a good lad. All better now…,” she gently said as she pressed light kisses into his hair leading him to snuggle deeper into her arms. He could stay there always; safe, warm, and loved.  She hummed out a light, happy chuckle. He always loved when his mother laughed. Her large silver eyes would light up like the stars in the sky and small crinkles would form around the edges. He thought she was the prettiest woman in all the world, but especially in these moments. It left him wondering if his father had ever made his mother laugh so happily.

“Hmm… well, now that you seem fine. How about we go break our fast? After all, it is a big day for you! You’ll need your energy!”

He looked up at her confused and meant to ask what she meant, but upon seeing the amused and knowing looking in her eyes, it suddenly hit him. _Today was his big day!_ _He was a whole 5 years of age!!!_

“IT’S MY NAME DAY!!!” How could he forget!!! He’d only been thinking about it for the past two moons!! And bragging about it to his younger cousin, Cat, since she arrived with her lady mother and The Hound a fortnight ago! He couldn’t wait to tell her! He was now 5 years and far too old to play with her; she was only four! Besides, all she wanted to do was play princes and princesses and hold feasts and tourneys, but he wanted to play outlaws and go on adventures.

He quickly jumped out of bed and ran to put his best clothes on; after all, he was practically a man now! His mother tried to help him dress but he insisted that he could do it himself. He had to be responsible for himself like his King father now that he was grown! When he was finished he raced out the room and down the long hallway to his father’s room with his mother trailing after him and calling for him to be careful though he was long gone.

He burst into the King’s room while Jon was in the midst of changing proclaiming loudly, “Father, it’s my name day!!” His Grace whirled around with a giant grin adorning his face and open arms. Ned ran straight to those open arms and was lifted high into the air causing a loud laugh to bubble out of both of them.

“Ned! You can’t just burst into His Majes… ty’s… room.” His mother came after him into the room but her voice quickly died as did his father’s laugh.  “King Jaehaerys.” His mother gave the King a curt nod avoiding his gaze. “Forgive me. We did not mean to interrupt while you were… getting ready, Your Grace.”

“No! No, it- it’s fine.” Jon stammered out looking rather dazed and a tad hopeful. “Please, come i-“

“Come along, Ned. Let the King get dressed. Your Aunt and cousin shouldn’t be kept waiting,” His Queen mother swiftly stated and began to head out the doorway leaving no room for objection. The young prince looked to his father who lowered him back to the ground. Though the King evaded his eyes, he could not avoid the watchful observations of the boy. Little Ned was now at an age where he could not help but start to take note of the way his parents interacted with one another. He witnessed the sad and lonesome expression that would emerge upon King Jon’s handsome face when she barely acknowledged him from across a room, and saw the quiet longing in his father’s eyes when she was in view yet not aware. Even noting the cold formal tones in their voices on the few occasions they made public appearances together. But, most of all, Ned once remembered his father’s tears and mournful plea of   _“Arya… forgive me”_ in his sleep on a night the young prince had snuck in to snuggle up to him. He’d wanted to wake up his father and ask him why mother was upset with him; he had crawled into the bed and curled next to the man.

“I’m sorry, little wolf. You should head on with your mother. I’ll follow shortly.”

He couldn’t help but be a bit upset with a small sigh escaping his lips. “Okay…” He turned to go, and then abruptly stopped. “Father…”

“Hmm?” The King gave him a quizzical look.

“Do… do you and mother…umm…” Tears were beginning to prick his eyes and his face scrunched slightly.

“What? What’s the matter, my little prince?” Worry visible in his father’s voice and a frown appearing between his brows.

“Umm…” He bit his lower lip. “Is mother mad at you!? Does she not love you!?!?” He blurted out; tears finally escaping his eyes. “Does it mean you won’t love me anymore???”

“What! No, no, no! We’ll always love you! _I_ will always love you; more than you could possibly know. Why would you ever think otherwise?” His father drew him into a warm embrace.

“W-well… umm... that’s… mother and you don’t say _‘I love you’_ and you don’t share a room and you don’t laugh and smile and… and _YOU DON’T KISS_ ,” he burst out in one rapid breath! “And… and Cat was saying that her parents do that stuff and that it means that they love each other and that you don’t because you and mother don’t love each other and that that is why I don’t look like you and mother and that means that you don’t love me! _Please don’t stop loving me, Father!_ ”

“ _Oh, my little man!_ You never have to worry about that! Your mother and I love you more than anything in the world. Your cousin doesn’t know what she’s talking about. …I do love your mother. So very, very much. She was my first and will be my last love.” He paused before continuing. “I know you are too young to understand right now, but adult relationships are… _complicated_ even at the best of times. Whatever is between your mother and I will never affect how we feel about you. You will never lose our love.” His father paused again. “I just hope that when the time comes I won’t lose yours.”

Ned wiped away his tears. He felt better albeit a bit confused at the King’s last words. _Because why would he ever not love his father???_

“Now you should run along. Your mother must be waiting. I’ll be there briefly.” His father lightly kissed the top of his head, ruffled his hair and guided him out the door.

The young boy turned around one last time, looking at the man he most admired and ran back giving him a quick hug about the waist before running out to meet the rest of his family.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small note on this chapter: So this first chapter is from Little Ned's perspective because I wanted to show how Arya and Jon are as parents and how others see their relationship. I also wanted to set the stage for Jon and Arya to not only reflect on the past that got them to this point but for them to finally confront the past and hopefully mend their relationship. We'll see.... :)


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Week on How I Met Your Mother...  
> Barney Stinson said 'I do' to his favorite suit.  
> Oh...wait. Wrong story.... again. XD (Sorry, I promise not to do this next time lol)  
> Previously on Love Lost:  
> Little Ned is plagued with dreams of the past on the morning of his 5th name day only to be comforted by his loving mother. Jon and Arya have a 'limited' exchange and the young boy is saddened by his parents' lack of a relationship. Jon does his best to reassure the prince before sending him along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! Thank you for reading thus far and I'm sorry if this update took longer than I was hoping. Real life (aka~ none inter-webs) stuff came up and I wasn't able to work on the story over the weekend then I got a small case of writer's block when I was working on the first part of the chapter. Anyways, without further ado....

_**JON** _

 

He hadn’t expected the questions, and the tears that followed, to come pouring out of the young boy’s mouth as they had. He was taken aback to say the least, however he knew such a day would eventually come. One would have to be truly oblivious (or a very small child) not to notice that his _relationship_ with his wife was… unnatural, damaged, and strained.

……..He awoke abruptly. Sweat dripping down his forehead, a cold clamminess settling on his skin. He had another dream. A nightmare. The same one he always had. Dying, the war, _her_ face torn in half with glowing blue eyes. Only, as he always had to reassure himself, she had not become one of them. She was alive, safe, and his wife. Save for the fact that she likely hated him or at least was unable to forgive him.

Jon pulled back the furs and lifted himself out of bed, making his way to the warm bowl of water prepared for him to freshen up. His clothes already laid out by some servant or another. Today, he recalled, was a big day. It was Little Ned’s fifth name day and the young prince would likely be making his way towards Jon’s chambers any moment now to ‘remind’ him lest he forgot. His son had been so excited for some time now boasting that he was a ‘nearly a man now’. Recalling it made him smile. He continued to get ready when the little wolf rushed into his room declaring his special day. Jon spun around and spread his arms to catch the boy now running into them. He raised him high into the air causing giggles to fall from the boy’s mouth; Jon could not stop the laughter brought out of himself. This would be a great day for sure.

Just then, he heard a voice he scarce heard up close but never stopped desiring to hear. Arya had entered the room chiding her son for bluntly busting in. Her voice however had quickly died as she laid her eyes upon him. He spied her quick and furtive glance at his chest and realized he was still in a state of undress with only his small clothes and a thin shift on. She must’ve been looking at his scars for she quickly addressed him and began to apologize for interrupting him. He’d be lying if he said there was no disappointment in the way she called him, but still she had spoken to him. Giddiness hit him, nervous and encouraging, as he began to invite her in. Perhaps, the festivities of the day could lead to a real conversation between them. However, his hopes were speedily dashed as she cut him off mid-sentence stating to Ned that they should leave him, the King, to dress and join their awaiting family.

She exited all too hastily in her thin, simple, yellow-silk gown that had been decorated with a brown, floral appliqué about the middle. _Baratheon colors_. Certainly, she looked beautiful in the dress with her hair in a simple updo. But no, the sight did not escape him despite how dense others had once considered him. He noticed. He was no longer a green boy so it only seemed obvious every time she wore his, _Gendry’s_ , family colors and how she had never once worn the Targaryen colors. Red and black. His old friend and maester, Sam, suggested that it might be that she merely didn’t own clothes in such colors. Jon had specially ordered a silk dress in his colors from one of the best dress makers across the Narrow Sea for their third anniversary of marriage. He has never seen it grace her frame.

Jon hated that things were like this between them. That he might never again see her smile at him, as though he were her hero, nor to hear her warm and energetic laugh that had been just for him was enough to break him into a million pieces if he thought too long upon it. To feel her slender arms wrap around his neck as she rained feather-light kisses upon his face… to ruffle her soft and often tangled hair once more would be greater than the gods granting him eternity in the heavens. He longed to stare into those eyes that were as brighter, mirror images to his own and see a love that could out burn the sun. But most of all he merely longed to hear her say but one word… _JON!_ Oh, what he would not give to hear his name, his _true_ name as far as he was concerned; given to him by the only man he would ever consider to be his Father. His name of Jon dancing past her lips in soft or excited or even angered tones would set him alight burning the ice piercing his heart.

But alas, “Jon” was a name reserved for someone she once loved possibly even someone she likely considered dead. It would make sense, in a way; he had died as Jon Snow, bastard to Lord Eddard Stark, and arisen as Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Perhaps, the man- no, _boy_ who deserved the name Jon truly died that day because the one whom returned likely lost the right to that name the moment he opened his eyes…..

\---------------------

_Stick ‘em with the pointy end…_

He had to get up. He needed to save her. She was waiting for him to come for her. To bring her home, safe within his arms. To end that _sick, Bolton bastard_ who dared to lay his dirtied, monstrous hands upon her!! To decimate all those who brought this fate upon their family and take back their ancestral home if that was her wish!!! _HE HAD TO GET UP!!!_ _HE HAD TO GET OUT OF THIS DARKNESS!!! SHE BELONGED TO HIM!!!_

Somewhere from within the deep recesses of his mind a singular, familiar voice called out to him, “ _OPEN YOUR EYES, JON SNOW!!! OPEN THEM!!!_ “

*GASP!!!*  He sucked in a sharp breath, causing a shudder to run down his spine, as his eyes blinked open. The first thing he saw was a blinding flash of light; red light. ‘ _Wait. Light isn’t red…_ ,’ he thought to himself. He blinked again. This time the light wasn’t just red, it was orange and yellow and white and _angry_. It seemed to dance around him, whipping at him. Another blink and deep inhale of breath and he smelt it. The smell of smoke filled his lungs. ‘ _Fire. I’m surrounded by fire._ ’ The thought came to him rather serenely. He should’ve been panicking, trying to put out the flames. Another breath and another thought, ‘I can’t feel the heat.’ Why couldn’t he feel the heat? He should be burning right now. One last thought crossed his still tranquil mind, ‘Maybe I’m already burned so badly I can no longer feel _anything._ Or I’m already dead.’ Nevertheless, he knew he needed to try to get up and figure out how he came to be surrounded by fire.

Jon began to stir and lift himself up, quickly coming to the realization that he was in fact as naked as his name day. ‘Why am I bare?’ The next thing that struck him was the sound that overtook the ringing, roaring echo of the flames. ‘What is that noise? … _Screams_???’ Was he in battle? That would certainly explain the flames, though not the nudity. He immediately twisted his head about in an attempt to find the source of the clamour.

All around him there were men of The Watch, wildlings, Stannis’ men gaping at him with horrified and awed expressions as they cowered and shrank away from him. Some went so far as to be bowing on their hands and knees. The reaction alarmed and confused him; he was no different than them, just a man. If he was being fair, he was giving them quite the show in his bareness, though it wasn’t as if they had never seen a man’s cock before. He made to stand up and ask them what in the seven hells was going on. That’s when he realized….

HE WAS ON A PYRE. Not just any pyre, a _funeral pyre_. **_His funeral pyre_**. He quickly looked down and saw furious, scarlet wounds all about his chest. The memories began to gurgle and gush forth as he was once again assaulted in his mind with each sharp, callous, and icy stab of the blade. He was betrayed. MURDERED. By his so called brethren! _His family_ ….

‘No! Not my family! The Starks are my family. _ARYA_ is my family!’

**_‘ARYA!’_** He was trying to save Arya! They had gored him through because he desired to save the only person who truly mattered. The one he had missed and ached for the most. The one whose laughter never ceased to warm him down to his bones. The one he thought never to see again. The one he had died for and would readily do so again. _HIS HEART_.

He had to get to her! He wondered how much time had passed. Would he still be able to get to her in time? _She had to be alright!_ He needed to find out what had happened since his death, the word feeling strange in his mind though he knew it for truth. He needed to find someone he could trust. _Satin_. He needed to find Satin. Or, seeing as this was his funeral, Dolorous Edd or Iron Emmett might well be among the crowd. He looked out again amid the throngs of people searching for a friendly or at least a trustworthy face taking in the scene about him. His eyes found the Red Woman, that scarlet witch, first bearing a peculiar expression that he couldn’t quite place. Not quite fear and not quite shock. No, it was closer to say _reverence_ …? But that was something he couldn’t think about just yet. He focused on locating anyone to help him. Instead, his eyes came across another woman… Val. And for perhaps the first time, he saw true terror in the woman’s gaze. Yet, it somehow did not bother him as it once might have.

Once again, his eyes shifted, only this time it was because there was movement in the corner of his vision. He turned and beheld Dolorous and a few others cautiously moving towards him with Ghost. He couldn’t quite make out the faces of the others due to the smoke clouding his sight but knew that if Ghost was with them then they were on his side. He stood now, walking thru the flames as though they were not there towards Edd, quickly discovering that the sudden movement had his head swimming. He stumbled slightly but continued forward. He needed to get to Ghost and Edd before the world went black again; darkness threatened his gaze at the edges.

He could still hear the horror in the murmurs of those around him. Some seemed to be crying out ‘monster’ and ‘ _The Great Other_ ,’ others sang ‘ _Azor Ahai reborn_ ,’ and more going so far as to claim him a _‘God._ ’ But rather his attention was now centered on Edd and the men behind him, most notably and surprisingly was Tormund Giantsbane. He reached the men just as everything faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case anyone was wondering what the yellow dress (it's a real dress and sadly not actually silk but just go with it) looks like....   
> https://www.modaoperandi.com/mestiza-ss18/carmen-diamond-slip-gown
> 
> Also, Jon's dress is a real dress too however it will have a more detailed description later in the story so I'll wait until then before I post a link to view it.
> 
> PS~ Jon's voice was hard to find this chapter so I hope it's not OOC. If it is please feel free to supply constructive criticism in a none disrespectful way please and thanks.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously:  
> Jon does his best to reassure his young son about Jon's relationship with Arya. This stirs old memories in him concerning his death and resurrection and the moment he considers to be the starting point of the loss of his relationship with Arya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...remember when I said that this story was going to be slightly non-linear? Yeahhhh.... I was serious about that. :)  
> Before writing this chapter I was trying to decide if I wanted to continue with Jon's narrative right away or finally let you see a glimpse in the mind of a character I'm sure you've all been dying to see. And well, while I was hesitant to finally write this chapter as I didn't want to give away too much too early... Narratively (pretty sure this isn't a word lol) speaking, it made more sense to jump POVs for the way I want to tell the story. Anywho, hope you like it....
> 
> PS~ If you haven't read the Mercy chapter... you may want to.

_**ARYA** _

 

_****_ ****

The stench and odor was an onslaught to her senses as she dragged the body away. Luckily the perfumes and spices had helped to mask the smell of rot; the aromas clung to the warm night air that was filled with gasps and cheers. The mummer’s play was soon to end. A girl finished her scene; a sweet, young maiden raped and murdered by the demonic dwarf. Now she had a dead man to be rid of. Another name crossed off another girl’s list from a life, long forgotten. Another face… soon to be discarded. _Mercy_.

A girl’s name was Mercedene but once, in a dream, it had been Arya. Of House Stark. Daughter to the Hand of the King, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North. The Kindly Man had appointed that girl an acolyte, given her a robe of black and white, and an apprenticeship with the King of the Mummers. She had learned many things. Learned to play her role, say her lines. Taking another name from the Many-Faced God was not a lesson she was meant to learn. Yet, an ugly little horse-faced girl with a thirst for justice had reared her awful head and demanded of Mercy to allow her this, well… One. Small. _Mercy_. And thus Arya Stark filched this body once more.

Mercy wasn’t ready to go just yet. But she knew that it was time. The girl just wouldn’t relent. Mercy knew she’d return eventually though. _She_ enjoyed being Mercy far too much to never reappear. It was a shame really, she thought she was a rather agreeable actress and surely she would miss this simple life.

Silently the body slid into the dark and murky waters of the canals. He was dragged all the way down to the unseen bottom by the chains and rocks, now bound to his already armored body. Raff the Sweetling would neither rape nor torture nor murder another soul again.

She brought her hand up to her jaw and began pulling up and over her head.

_‘Goodbye, Mercy.’_

_‘Goodbye, Arya Stark…for now.’_ One last giggle and smirk escaped her lips.

\---------------------

She sighed heavily thru her nose. Another dream of a life, long past… It had been quite a while since she had last dreamt such a memory of a girl named Mercy. Though, she was no stranger to these visions of the past. _Her past_. Still, it was strange that Mercy had been the one to appear. Was the young girl trying to indicate that she was inside Arya even now?

Arya sighed again and slowly opened her eyes. It was still dark outside. Well, at least she would have a bit of time to practice her water-dancing before she had to wake up her little love. She stepped out of bed moving towards her wardrobe and picked out some old breeches, a light tunic, and a worn pair of boots. Braided her hair in a simple plait and exited her chambers to head for the small, private courtyard reserved for her training. Along the way asking for a bath to be prepared by one of the three servants allowed in the royal family’s chambers; this had been upon the insistence of Arya as she knew all too well the dangers of anybody whom called themselves a servant. No highborn or well to-do merchant ever paid much attention to the smallfolk. This was a hard-learned lesson she herself had to dole out a time or two before and thus she needed to know who came and went near her family.

The servant was a young handmaiden from what remained of the Northern Houses. The girl, Marna Snow of House Locke, was no more than eleven years of age, but was as pretty as Sansa had been at that age. It was certain the girl would grow to be very desirable, even among the highborn despite her bastard status. She might even become a handmaiden in the sense of the old word if the girl’s ogling of the King was anything to go by. She scoffed lightly. He wouldn’t likely take a girl so much his junior as a lover even when she became of age. Yet, if he did, she supposed it wouldn’t surprise her as she knew his predilections towards beauties and she did not share her husband’s bed. She felt ugly for even thinking such things.

A small prick of bitterness always seemed to nudge at the back of her mind when such notions struck her. She had never been beautiful, never would be, though she could at least say she was no longer ugly. She could even seduce men with her words alone. Yet, more than anything, she had at least been beautiful to the one who mattered. The only man to ever love her. _Gendry_ had thought her beautiful. Had _made_ her feel beautiful every time he gazed at her. But he was gone and only her son thought her pretty, now, as young children often view their mothers.

Arriving at the courtyard, she began to stretch and realized that perhaps she didn’t spend nearly enough time with a sword seeing as some of her joints were a little stiff. Being on The King’s small council as both the Master of Coin and Master of Law certainly didn’t lend her much spare time. What time she had left in the day was spent accompanying Little Ned on his ‘adventures.’ Giving him the childhood that had been stolen from her was of the upmost importance to her. It was a vow she made the day she discovered she was with child. And it had once been a topic of discussion between her and her lover should they have chosen to bear children. Little did Arya know she would soon find herself carrying his child but he would no longer be by her side.

When she was done stretching she picked out a sword and began to swipe, slash, and swing the sword about fighting innumerable unseen enemies in the darkness that had yet to be broken by the pale light of day. The practice was an oasis from her thoughts. A way to clear her mind. And after the morning’s dream she needed a repose from her memories, from her mind. So she swung and lunged and twirled about losing herself in the rhythm of her dance. She continued this until the sun began to illuminate the sky above and she was well out of breath. Collapsing on the cool stone floor a small grin played on her lips. It felt good to move about in such a way. It would feel better to train with another but she was hard-pressed to find someone who would dare to raise a sword to _The Queen_. Once, when The War still raged on, finding a ‘dance partner’ had been easy enough; everyone had needed to train and stay in shape so she had no shortage of men and women to fight.

Arya hoisted herself up and proceeded towards her chambers. _‘Time to go ready myself for the day. A Queen has to look the part,’_ she mused.

When she entered her room a large copper tub sat in the middle of the floor. She could see the steam rising off the top of the water, could smell the fragrance of the Dragon’s breath permeating the air. Of course it would be the Dragon’s flower… She didn’t seem capable of escaping the blood and fires of the Targaryens, even in her own space.

She sighed and stripped off her garbs, tossing them to the side as she slipped into the warm water. She shut her eyes letting the heat seep into her skin all the way down to her bones. Her exhales becoming softer and softer as her skin started to pucker and prune. She opened her eyes and set about washing her body of the sweat and grime accrued from the morning’s activities.

When she was done she grabbed a robe that had been placed nearby and stepped out of the tub. The floor was cool but felt soothing on her feet. Making her way towards her wardrobe she slipped on the dressing gown stopping momentarily before the large looking glass.

_‘I look like a drowned rat…’_

Her eyes were a flat grey and her hair was an ordinary brown of barely manageable curls; both were lackluster at best. Her time in Braavos had taught her how to spin her unremarkable looks with far more exciting words, but she knew they were not true no matter what was said.

Somehow, despite her own plainness, she had managed to give birth to the most beautiful baby boy. Unfathomably deep pools of blue framed by voluminous, elongated black lashes that curved skyward were met with equal resplendence from hair as dark as the velvety blackness of a moonless night.  Ned was the splitting image of his father. Had his bull-headedness and ridiculous look of pain whenever he thought too hard as well. He was so alike Gendry sometimes that it took all her willpower not to breakdown and cry for her son that would never know his father. For her own loss. But she couldn’t cry, wouldn’t let herself; she had shed enough tears in her life to fill the Narrow Sea. This world had taken more than its fair share from her and she would give it no more.

Arya pulled away from the mirror and began perusing her garments and dresses. As The Queen it was expected of her to don the latest and most fashionable of apparel, thus she had been gifted, by many currying her favor, a copious amount of gowns. She was never in short supply for significant occasions. This, her son’s fifth name day, being one such day. This evening Prince Eddard was to be officially presented before the people and the court as the Targaryen heir to the Crown. The first real feast since The War made possible with the arrival of spring. She settled on a gown for the evening’s festivities and one for daytime pulling the former to be aired out.

The dress she chose for the day was rich yellow-gold silk with an almost bronzish brown floral beading pattern. The colors were of the former Baratheon household; Gendry’s family’s colors. Though he never attained the name or the arms she could still honour him in this small way. It was the least she could do as he was unable to be here for their son’s big day. It was the least she could do to ensure that he was here in some small way. For their son… and for her.

She quickly dressed, put her hair up with a matching golden ribbon, and headed towards her son’s room.  It was time to wake up her little prince. Only, when she arrived what sounded like soft whimpers could be heard through the door. Her body tensed and she immediately swung open the door, panic rising up the back of her neck.

Her body instantaneously unwound upon seeing that the boy was having a nightmare. While it hurt her to see him in pain even from a dream, there were far worse things to be frightened of than the intangible. Such as her past finally catching up to her…

Sitting on the edge of the bed she gently called for her little love to wake, easing and coaxing him out of his slumber with reassuring words. He jolted out of bed and straight into her arms while crying about the monsters in his dreams. The ‘ _ice monsters’_. She was well aware of what monsters he spoke of but how had he come to know about them? Had someone told him about the war… perhaps her young niece or one of the servant’s children? Or…. had the wolf blood been passed on to him and this was a vision? She would inquire about this at a later date; now she needed to distract him from such terrible things. Prompting him to recall his name day, Ned briskly clothed himself insisting all the while he could do it himself because he was ‘practically a man now.’

In her little man’s excitement he nearly flew out the door and down the hall. She had to hold back a chortle as she called for him to be careful and chased after him. She followed to ensure he didn’t fall too hard on the stone as he had too much of Gendry’s clumsiness in him and tripping came too easily to him. Only she wasn’t expecting him to head straight into the King’s chambers. She had tried to stop him lest he see something unsavory. Lest _she_ see something unsavory.

The boy she had known better than anyone, grown up with, and _adored_ above all wouldn’t have taken random women to bed for fear of siring bastard children but that boy was long gone and in his place was a stranger. A man she scarcely recognized was before her now and she no longer knew what to expect. The boy she once called brother had been more Stark than even her true brothers regardless of his bastard status. The man she was married to now was a Targaryen. He had chosen not only a Targaryen but chose to be one as well over his Stark family. _Over her_ …

When she finally reached the room she began to scold her little bull, however she had stopped mid-sentence when her eyes caught sight of _him_. Of his scars…of **Jon**. ‘ _No. Not Jon. Jaehaerys. His name is Jaehaerys_.’

“King Jaehaerys.”

She couldn’t look him in the eyes, not when she had just taken in his scars. His shift had been sheer enough for her to see every last crimson mark. _Crimson_. Red… _Blood red_. Red was the color of the _dragons_. Red was the color of the _lions_. Red was the color that led bulls to their doom. RED was the color that painted her worst fears. She needed to get out of there.

“Forgive me. We did not mean to interrupt while you were… getting ready, Your Grace.”

Red was pooling in her vision.

“No! No, it- it’s fine.”

_‘More Red.’_

“Please, come i-“

The world was swirling in hues of **_red_**.

“Come along, Ned. Let the King get dressed. Your Aunt and cousin shouldn’t be kept waiting.”

_‘I HAVE TO GET OUT._ ’

She bolted. As soon as she rounded the corner of the doorway. Halting midway down the hallway to compose herself and realizing just as abruptly that her son had not followed. She turned around to retrieve him and got only a foot from the door before she took note of the private conversation between the two. Ned noticed the strangeness between them.

She had never meant to make her sweet boy feel this way. Never meant for him to feel for even a moment that he could ever be _unloved_. That was the last thing she could ever desire. For true, there was no possibility of her ever desiring such a thing. She never wanted him to worry over such things. Not when she knew all too well the pain of feeling… unwanted, unloved…. _alone_ and with little hope.

She turned away ashamed and feeling as though she had somehow failed as a mother.

_‘I have to do better. I **will** do better.’_ She made a silent promise to make more of an effort in her interactions with her husband for the sake of her son. She knew it would be no easy task on her part but she had to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really hope I didn't get too OOC for Arya as she is my favorite character and I would never want to misportray her. While I was really, really nervous to write this chapter I also couldn't wait for you guys to finally get Arya's perspective. With people saying she was being cruel (something I was really aiming for from Jon's POV) I really wanted it to come across that things are more complicated than they seem. That Arya while already being a mother is still quite young and insecure and still dealing with her grief and a bit of PTSD. Her emotions are complex and conflicting and play a lot into her current relationship with not only Jon but everyone else around her. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this little peek into Arya's head. This is the longest chapter so far and the I think future chapters will be just as long if not longer once we delve further into the past.
> 
> Once again, constructive criticism (sans rudeness) is always welcome.
> 
> See you next time and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! :D


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Love Lost:  
> Arya dreams of the past and a girl named Mercy. She readies herself and her son for his fifth name day. Then has an unpleasant run-in with Jon that leads to a her eavesdropping on a private conversation. It forces her to reflect on herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everybody! I'm back! Finally! Like a month later! O.o Oops... Sorry I kept you hanging for so long. But real life kept me preoccupied for a while and then I had some issues writing this chapter. So this chapter has actually gone through a few re-writes and POV changes. Initially, it was going to be one character that kept giving me bad writer's block as well as turning too fanon/show version. Then I changed the POV when I realized who I should've been writing instead (this POV will be the next chapter with a few adjustments to flow w/this chapter). Then when I was maybe half-way done with that POV, I realized I was missing a chapter because it wasn't flowing right. And thus this current chapter was born. :D
> 
> Now concerning something else I wanted to address...AGES & TIMELINE! Ok, so I realized I never told you guys that I'm going with book ages of when ASOIAF starts out - Jon = 14 / Arya = 9 / et cetera... But I'm diverging from ASOIAF by stretching out the time frame in the books to the 5yrs from the O.G. outline. So as of the Mercy chapter and Jon's resurrection 4 1/2 years have passed since Bobby B rolled up to Winter Wonderland. Hope this helps you get a better feel for things. :)
> 
> Anywho... hope this chapter is to your liking...
> 
> PS~ concerning the comments from the last chapter... call it an old person's wisdom, but a person can have multiple 'True Love(s)' in their lifetime and it's never too late to fall in love again. :)

_ **JON** _

 

 

 

_They were as red and purple flowering blooms against a blanket of pure white snow. Everywhere his hands dared to roam the crimson poppies sprouted, everywhere his lips sought to kiss violets sprung forth. The marks were a heat, a fire, intense and unforgiving melting the snow of her skin. Every inch of her presence surrounded him, engulfed him. Her sighs and moans were the sweetest melody to his ears. She called his name and he felt himself drown in all that she was. She was his and he was hers. As it had always been. As it would always be._

_‘Arya…’_

He awoke to darkness. His arms and bed were empty and cold. His body was covered in a cold sweat. He’d had the dream again. It was the third night since he’d awoken from death and every time he shut his eyes he’d dreamt of her. Dreamt of taking her as a man takes a woman. It unnerved him. Yes, she was older in his dreams. But she was his sister. His little sister, half-sister, but sister none the less. True he had always loved her more than any other and yes, as a child he’d thought perhaps he’d be able to take her to wife till Greyjoy squashed those dreams. Still she was his sister and he was unnerved that he desired her in such a way. But the fact that she was his sister wasn’t what bothered him the most. The truth of his perturbed nature was on account of the fact that he wasn’t sickened by the dreams. He should’ve been feeling repelled and vile, a villain, for having such disgusting thoughts, however…..

The nausea never came.

It didn’t help that he had been confined to his bed for the most part. And thus sleep came often and with it _the dreams_. They said a fever had arisen in him and so he must rest; he felt fine and supposed it had more to do with them still processing his undead status. He hadn’t really had visitors save Edd and Ghost, the latter of whom was currently curled up by the door guarding it most like. If anything at least it kept the red woman and her minions at bay with him being ‘too ill’ to receive them. The last thing he needed to deal with was Melisandre’s prophecies when he needed to be getting his strength back. It was a long, harsh journey to Winterfell and since he’d been stabbed there was nothing barring him from taking Arya back.

Though he had been betrayed and murdered, it had given him a blessing in disguise – his watch had ended. Certainly, the memories would haunt his waking nightmares and the scars never to fully fade, but he’d easily die again if it meant holding his sister again. If it meant stopping anyone from ever touching her again. He was going to take her back and for that he needed to be stronger. For her…

And then there was still the other matter that needed to be dealt with – his murderers. _Traitorous cowards_. Currently, they, Bowen Marsh and his men, were locked up in the ice cells. Had been since his other brothers had discovered their treachery. Initially, they had tried to blame the wildlings for his death but Satin had seen what really happened. So they had stabbed him too. Only he had gotten away and survived just long enough to bring the truth to Iron Emmett at Long Barrow. How he’d managed to live that long or get there that fast was truly a mystery and a testament to Satin’s loyalty. After that, Emmett and Edd had sent ravens to the other castles then rounded up their black brothers and the spearwives alike to see justice was brought about. Jon had been told that upon their arrival, fighting had already broken out amongst the Night’s Watch, the King’s men, and the Wildlings. Shortly after their arrival, men from the other castles begin to arrive and the fighting was brought to a swift end. The truth was exposed and the perpetrators rounded up and thrown in the cells. The following day Jon’s funeral pyre was set up. Satin was honored with his own just hours before; Jon would make time to thank him before he left. The whole affair of his death to his resurrection had only lasted a total of three days. And it still felt so surreal.

He’d been told that the only reason he hadn’t been burned right away was due to Ghost and the Priestess’ interference. He didn’t like thinking about why she didn’t have him burned right away nor what she may have done to his body in the meantime. He had his suspicions that she might have played a hand in his rebirth, but he didn’t really want to find out. He also didn’t want to owe her or Stannis anything more. All he wanted to do was go back to the only home he’d ever known – Arya. She had always been home. He’d finally come to realize that. For a while he’d thought perhaps he could find a home on the Wall, he’d even thought for a short time that maybe Ygritte could be home, but it had never felt right. Something was always off, missing. Neither had been able to make him feel whole. Not the way Arya had. Not since the day he said goodbye to her. Not since he’d realized she was… _likely dead_.

And then the news broke. Arya was to wed the Bolton Bastard – **_His Arya_**. His whole world felt like it was collapsing. Death was on his doorstep from beyond the Wall, the Realm couldn’t care less about what was coming, and everyone only seemed to be fighting for the right to sit on some stupid chair; yet none of it seemed to matter anymore. _Arya was alive_. She had needed him and he had left her. He should’ve been there with her all along. He should’ve never left. He should’ve been by his father’s side, should’ve swept his sisters away from King’s Landing, should’ve fought by Robb’s side, should’ve protected his brothers and their home. Instead, he’d left to find something as useless as glory or honor. What good was any of that if his family was dead?

He’d been wrong. Arya wasn’t dead and he’d been given a second chance. He’d been released from his vows. He would take her back, tearing the heavens and hells apart if he had to. But he would take her back. And he would never leave her again. Let the rest of the world fall to shit; it no longer mattered to him. Just her.

‘First things first, though. I have matters to settle before I leave,’ he thought as he climbed out of bed to clean himself from the remnants of the night’s dream. Another matter he would have to address before he found her again. He couldn’t allow his sickness to infect her. _To ruin her_.

When he finished dressing, a strenuous task due to his scars still aching, he made his way out to the yard. It was time to deal with the traitors. Only, once he reached the bottom of the tower he heard a commotion coming from outside. Ghost bolted out ahead of him.

_‘Seven Hells! Not another fight between those fools!’_ That was the last thing he needed right now.

Jon rushed out into the yard, sword drawn and ready to cut someone down. The Gods knew he was thrumming and itching for some release from being cooped up in his room with his thoughts. But his body on the other hand was screaming at him to stop.

He expected to see blood and fire and fighting as he stepped out. He expected to see dead men strewn about. He even expected to see Ghost tearing into the flesh of one man or another. He hadn’t, however, expected to see men gathered around a small group being quickly ushered into the maester’s quarters. He heard a few murmurs from the men of ‘Is it really her… Is it really the Lord Commander’s sister, Lady Arya Stark?’

He felt his heart stop at that. Time seemed to stand frozen. And for a minute he thought he’d misheard. Thought it a figment of his imagination. It couldn’t possibly be true…. could it? Was she really here? And just like that his heart began to beat, pounding out a song of war on the drum that was his heart. Time rushed back into place all around him as he started yelling for men to move while he pushed his way through the crowd. Running with all the strength he could muster and ignoring the wave of shocked men as he passed by, he burst through the door, stumbling slightly as he entered.  

“ **Where is she** ,” he loudly commanded, despite his breath being labored and running thin!

Everyone whipped their heads his way, startled by the sudden appearance of the Lord Commander. Everyone save for one; a small, hooded figure was huddled up by the fire, shivering likely from both the cold and his voice. His vision locked on to the person by the fire. Once again, time slowed to a maddening crawl. He felt a knot in his throat as he swallowed before the next word came out of his mouth.

“Arya…” It was barely a whisper, a question, maybe even a prayer. A hush descended upon them all and Jon braced himself.

The individual shrank into itself at the call of the name for just a moment. Then as if they had come to a resolution, slowly they stood and faced him.

He felt his breath catch, awaiting release.

Carefully, a pair of tiny, effeminately gloved hands reached out from beneath the cloak and shakily pulled back the hood concealing their identity. Raggedy dirty, brown hair spilled forth from a bent head. A girl. His heart stopped and he thought he might bust at the seams. Until finally, the girl’s head lifted to reveal her face.

His blood became frozen in his veins and heart shattered into a million pieces.

The face before him was not Arya Stark’s. This was not the face he had so meticulously studied for hours upon hours as she slept tucked in his arms as children. The scared eyes that pleaded with him for mercy were not the eyes of his sister. They were not his eyes. They did not glitter like molten steel in the fire light.

This was not Arya Stark and he felt like he’d been stabbed all over again.

No, the one stood before him was none other than Jeyne Poole, the girl who once helped Sansa endlessly bully and harass Arya. He had hated her. But none so much as in this moment.

**Oh how he hated her** …

 

\---------------------

 

As Jon finished dressing, his own wretched memories seemed to play out in his mind in a near ceaseless loop. But this wasn’t the day for him to wallow in his own self-pity. Today was his son’s name day and he needed to put on a bright and happy face for the young boy. He’d have to save his usual dour mood for another day. A day when he had time to worry about his own ugliness, both inside and out.

The servant, he noticed, had chosen a black velvet doublet covered with small diamond-shaped dragon glass pieces, edged in silver threading and adorned with a large, red three-headed dragon about the center. Little rubies dotted the eyes of the dragon. The thing was _‘garish’_ and _‘ornate’_ and completely _‘too much’_ for his tastes. Where had such a thing even come from? Still, he supposed this was the way a King, _a Targaryen King_ , was meant to dress for such an event; especially now that the kingdom was finally on the mend from all the wars and the damage done from the winter season. The kingdom’s debts had been cleared and they were entering a golden era.

Poverty and crime rates had dropped tremendously and with spring finally upon them crops would begin to grow. His Master of Coin had seen to a large part of getting the country back on track financially. Arya had always been one for numbers and it seemed only fitting that the role went to her. She’d also proven, much to his chagrin for fear of her safety, to be the best person for the job of Master of Law. If he hadn’t already had a Hand, Lord Davos as it were now, he’d have just made her his Hand to the King. At least then he could keep her closer and she’d have no choice but to talk to him. He’d initially given her the title of Master of Coin not just for her skills but in the hopes that it would open a dialogue between them. However, he quickly learned that he was in fact mistaken. Arya was so efficient and diligent in her work that there was hardly ever anything to discuss. She was so good that he occasionally thought that should anything ever happen to him Arya would have no trouble running the Kingdom all on her own. She’d likely do a better job than him if he was being honest.

The beautiful and goddess-like “Winter’s Queen” they would call her, he imagined. Adorned in all silver and white, her smile would ease the people’s wearied souls and her eyes would pierce the hearts of any who might harm her subjects. They would all adore her even more than they already did. Yes, the people loved their Queen at the best of it and were fascinated by her at the least. He had heard the rumors himself; gone into the city in disguise when he’d needed a stiff drink and break from palace affairs. At those times, he would find a seedy little tavern where he was not likely to be recognized, order himself some cheap ale and something called a ‘bowl of brown’ and just quietly sit and listen to what the people had to say. He pretty much never heard a poor thing said concerning his wife, good thing too lest he harm the wretch that spoke ill of her.

And it was on one of his little escapades that he learned he wasn’t the only one who had a penchant for wandering the streets of the city. A few times he was certain he had spotted Arya out of the corner of his eyes dressed like the poorer of the smallfolk. He would always try to follow to see if it was truly her but then he would round a corner and she would be gone. Honestly, it didn’t really surprise him as she had often been called ‘Arya Underfoot’ by the Stark bannermen and townsfolk as a child. Those had been happy memories and if he never actually caught her then at least he had been able to relive their childhood for a moment. Back when Arya was always covered in dirt, her hair was tangled, and a smile seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face when they ran about playing.

That was the Arya he loved more than anything. That was the Arya he longed to see again. The unadorned, wild, carefree Arya who was every bit a Stark. A Stark like he once had been.

Stark…

He hadn’t “once” been a Stark. He still was! Through his mother, he was still Stark.

_‘The woman is important too!’_ A memory of another life…

Jon appraised his own reflection in the looking glass, studied the dragon on his chest, and chose to change. He could wear the tunic for the evening’s festivities. Right now, though, he would honor the mother he never knew and the father he did know.

It had been a very long time since he embraced his mother’s heritage and sported the Stark colors. In fact, it had probably last been during the war. He dug into the back of his wardrobe and found the one piece of clothing he owned with the direwolf sigil emblazoned on it. He hadn’t realized he owned so little an amount of northern clothing; he would have to get more.

A small smile graced his lips as he walked out to the Great Hall to break his fast alongside the rest of his family. He felt at home in the Stark colors. And he briefly wondered whether _she_ would like it, his wardrobe choice that is. He turned the corner and saw Arya, Ned, and Sansa standing in the hall. They seemed to be talking to someone.

_‘Gods, she looks beautiful…’_

She must’ve heard him coming up because she suddenly turned in his direction. Her face was pale and she looked dazed as if someone had struck her - hard. Her eyes had an unreadable emotion in them. Panic fell upon him at that moment and he quickly turned to see what had shaken her.

What he saw his mind almost couldn’t comprehend. Or rather… refused to register as the blood drained from his body.

A ghost stood before them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So concerning this chapter... Past Jon needs a hug don't you think??? I volunteer as tribute! Any other takers? ;)   
> Incidentally, futute Jon... Way to go, buddy! Reclaim that heritage! You're a wolf, Jon. XD
> 
> As usual, I look forward to hearing your thoughts and constructive criticisms! :)
> 
> Much Love,   
> Lady S


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Love Lost:  
> Lost in his memories, Jon recounts the days after his resurrection up until he discovered that "Arya" was an imposter. Deciding not to dwell on his past any longer Jon finishes getting ready for the day only to find a shocking and surprising visitor at his door step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS &/OR HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!!!
> 
> There's so much to say about this chapter and yet I'm too frazzled to think about it properly. I will say that this is by far the longest chapter yet. It's a bit of a dozy in length (at least when it came to writing it that is). This chapter actually wasn't supposed to go down like this. It was meant to be a more light-hearted chapter than how it turned out, but after the way the last chapter ended... Well, let me just say that this was actually going to be Sandor chapter at one point and the surprise guest almost ended up being an entirely different person. Sadly, the tone didn't quite fit and I couldn't quite make the "surprise guest" fit into the story... just yet. 
> 
> If you're wondering, no I don't have the story fully fleshed out. Though I do have a general direction and a number of particular "scenes/plot points" that everything will revolve around. This is a living story so things are constantly evolving and changing as I more or less let the characters lead the way.
> 
> Now, about Sansa's characterization in this chapter... this version of Sansa is based more on the books and is a post-canon future version of Sansa so if she doesn't fully fit your headcanon of Sansa then that is why. Thou I did try to remain as close to book!Sansa as possible.
> 
> One last thing, Sandor is also meant to be more like book!Sandor (though I adore Rory McCann's Hound). What I mean by that is that in my headcanon Sandor Clegane looks like Peter Steele from the band Type O' Negative. Look him up on Tumblr if you have one and then just mentally add the scarring you'll see what I mean. Seriously though, look him up you won't regret it. Incidentally, Peter's personality aligned very closely with Sandor's. So much so that Peter was even quoted as preferring tall, feminine red-heads. 
> 
> Anyways, as always hope you enjoy this chapter and feel free to let me know what you think. 
> 
> With Much Appreciation,  
> Lady S
> 
> PS~ If you follow the Jonrya tag on Tumblr, my Secret Santa project is nearly done and should be up later today!

_**SANSA** _

 

 

She breathed deep through her nose. More like sighed…

They had already been waiting for nearly an hour. Jon and Arya should’ve already been here. If she didn’t know better she would’ve sworn they were late just to spite her.

Another sigh escaped her…

Sansa had never been particularly _“close”_ to either of her siblings growing up what with Arya being the wild creature that she was and Jon having been a bastard and her father’s shame. Still, that had been many lifetimes ago and she was a different person now; her husband had seen to much of the change in her behavior.

Sandor had been somehow much less than she expected and yet so much more than she could’ve ever hoped for. He wasn’t particularly warm or even gentle and it was quite fair to say he could be rather rough though never with her or their child. However, she had never been able to erase him from her mind while she resided under Littlefinger’s tutelage. Even when she had been set to marry the handsome heir to the Vale, the attractive but _rude Harry_ , she still found herself longing for a tall, dark brute of a man. And no, Sandor hadn’t magically healed his scars and become beautiful to her eyes, but she had learned to look beyond the misshapen half of his face. And when she finally did she realized that were it not for the Mountain, Sandor Clegane might well have been one of the most handsome men in the Seven Kingdoms. _At least in her eyes_. What people portrayed in their eyes was what mattered; Sandor always looked at her like she was the sun spreading light into the darkness of his world. He sincerely loved her. And as she had come to learn the hard way, that’s what truly mattered.

Their daughter, Catelyn, however seemed to be in need of this lesson slightly. Catelyn in all her four years of wisdom had taken it upon herself to become an even greater highborn lady than even Sansa had dreamed in her childhood. And much to her chagrin the young girl seemed determined to do so by becoming the next Queen. The girl was prone to extravagant and extraordinary flights of fancy, a deep love for songs and poetry, and a little too much ambition.

This troubled Sansa greatly as she was expressly against her daughter entering the poisonous world of the court. She didn’t want Catelyn to make the same mistakes she once did. Sansa didn’t want to risk the girl suffering the way had. And there was no guarantee that anyone would be on her side once she entered like Sansa had found with the Hound. For her daughter to lose her innocence in a bid for a throne that never seemed to bring anyone happiness was just too cruel.

While things had undoubtedly changed for the better under the new rule, many lords and ladies still played their furtive little games. And for where that left Jon and Arya, well anyone with a vigilant pair of eyes could see the misery seeping out of their bodies. Though, Sansa knew that there were deeper rooted issues than were presented to them just from being forced to take residence in this wretched, awful castle that only brought up horrid memories for her.

Being in the Red Keep had brought her ghastly night terrors nearly every night since they had been here. She kept reliving her father’s execution; the whishing sound that the swing of Ice had made, Joffrey’s cruel eyes that were enjoying it, and the cheers and jeering of the crowd played in her mind. And once that memory had finished all the other atrocities flashed by. The stress of it all was wearing on her body, something not good considering her present condition. However, she at least had her husband to help ease her mood. He never really tried to make her talk about it or tell her sweet words about how it would be alright. He merely held her close as she cried it out. It was something she was truly grateful for. A love to silently comfort her…

Despite how blessed she was to have someone beside her, she couldn’t help but have a slight concern over her sister and good brother’s state of affairs. Sansa had only been here for two weeks; refusing to step foot in King’s Landing since she left it as a girl on Littlefinger’s boat. Yet, Jon and Arya had been here for quite a few years now. Time in this hellish place had certainly taken its toll if their mannerisms were anything to go by.

She had thought, or perhaps hoped, that the two of them together could overcome the desolation that being in King’s Landing would impart upon them. She had been gravely mistaken. If anything it was clear that being here had only served to drive them further apart. Especially for Arya, she not only had to cope with the memories of this place but with the current “ornamentations” and styling of the Red Keep being so very, very _Fire and Blood_ … it was little wonder why her sister seemed so despondent. Well, that and, as she sort of speculated, perhaps it might have something to do with Sansa’s current “state.”

The birth of her second child was nearly upon them – not even a month out. It had been the main reason for her travelling to King’s Landing, that and her nephew’s name day celebration. Strangely enough Sansa had wanted her sister, whom she hadn’t seen since her first was born, by her side while she gave birth. Mayhaps it was the pregnancy, but she had been feeling rather sentimental and homesick as of late. Sadly enough… **_home_** as they had known it was gone. So Sansa had broken her personal vow to never return to King’s Landing and left the comfort of Highgarden to seek out what remained of her family.

Only, the happy reunion she imagined, while not unpleasant, wasn’t what she was expecting. Arya, whose emotions had once been so easy to read, was seemingly delighted at the arrival of the next little Stark to be; Sansa, though, could see the pain that momentarily flashed in her eyes as Arya took in her protruding stomach. She should’ve known Arya would feel such heartache. It was just that in Sansa’s own excitement and musings she had temporarily neglected to recall such an important thing….

Arya would only ever have one child - Eddard.

Little Eddard was one of the most precious children ever and so very much reminded Sansa of Robb as a child that it broke her heart on occasion. She knew how much Arya loved and adored him, even going so far as to refer to the young boy as the light of her life. However, Sansa had come to know how important family was to Arya; how she had dreamed of one day having a home full of children, a pack of her own, like their parents before them. But the Gods, old and new, had denied her sister such a gift and it seemed Sansa would receive such a blessing instead.

Being heavy with child had been far easier this second time around. During her first pregnancy, winter was in full bloom and the war, while technically over, still devastated Westeros. Provisions and resources were beyond scarce; those that didn’t starve either froze to death or were taken by the plague that had spread like wildfire. Many didn’t even survive the first year after the war.

It was why upon Jon’s Coronation he had given Sansa Ladyship over the Reach. While the Lannisters had sacked Highgarden taking much of its wealth and resources, it was still an affluent land that was not likely to suffer the effects of war and winter as harshly. And Jon had needed someone he could trust with such precious land so they didn’t all starve. To Sansa’s surprise he had chosen her. She had finally earned his trust. The proof being that he had sent Arya and newborn babe in tow along with her. It was during this time that Sansa had grown quite attached to her nephew as he seemed to awaken something maternal in her. She lamented his departure for weeks. Arya had only returned to Jon’s side once Sansa had safely given birth herself and could manage the affairs of the Reach on her own. It hadn’t been easy at first but she had been able to do it and most importantly her family hadn’t starved in the process. Unlike at this particular moment…

_‘For the love of the Gods, what is taking them so long!?’_

Currently, she was starving for two waiting on her siblings to arrive as propriety demanded they not feast before the Royal Family. And if she had not been the one to request their presence for the morning’s meal then she might’ve already proceeded to call upon them. However, it had been almost an hour and her mood was becoming more soured with each passing second so perhaps she ought to seek them out herself.

Though, if she was being honest, her disposition was also being influenced by Sandor and Catelyn’s sulking and grumbling. Despite being very much like Sansa had been, Catelyn’s infamous temperament, and love of food, was entirely that of the girl’s father. And right now, the two were beyond irritable and irritating. At this point though, she couldn’t really blame them. Especially considering she wouldn’t allow them to touch the food until at least Arya or Jon had arrived. And then if you took into account that the castle was overrun with visiting lords and ladies whom kept peeking in to see if the Royal family had finished eating so they too might break their fast…. It was time to fetch her siblings. She had waited long enough.

Sansa exhaled a deep breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, stood up, and excused herself from the table. An exasperated ‘About fucking time’ could be heard from the behind her as she walked out the hall. _‘Typical.’_ Sandor hadn’t even waited for her to leave the hall before getting into the food. Again, she couldn’t really blame him.

As she waddled down the halls and up the varying staircases towards the royal chambers she contemplated her choice of gown and hairstyle for the night’s festivities. She envisioned herself in the colors of the Houses Tully, Stark, and Clegane and among the dresses she had brought with her which would be most appropriate for such an occasion.  More importantly, would any even fit her at least? The gown she planned to don no longer held her girth. She mulled it over a bit longer and came to the conclusion that only two of her more elaborate dresses would realistically fit her now. Neither was of the Tully or Stark coloring. And while she did have one that would represent the Clegane household and would be the more comfortable of the two, the pale sable of their sigil had never suited her features.

_‘It seems I shall be adorned in the rich copper tinted silk gown left behind by the Tyrells. It’s a little too revealing for my taste but it’ll do. And it’ll be easy to get in and out of. Perhaps I should pull my hair up this evening…. And what of my slippers? I don’t believe I have any to go with the gown.’_ She pondered on this dilemma momentarily before reaching a possible solution. _‘I suppose I shall have to inquire of Arya. I wonder what she’ll be wearing this evening. Hopefully not something so exposing as the slips she seems fond of wearing of late.’_

 As if Sansa had somehow magically conjured her sister with thought alone, Arya rounded the corner at the end of the passageway. Eddard was following closely behind, hot upon his mother’s heels. But it was Arya her eyes were on.

_‘Of course she would be wearing such a baring dress,’_ Sansa internally grumbled as she came to a halt.

The dress seemed to find every one of her sister’s curves and cling to them while maintaining looseness, reminiscent to a sleeping gown. It hung from Arya’s slender frame by thin straps about the shoulders parading her arms, shoulders, and décolletage. ‘ _Far too exposing for a Queen._ ’ But that wasn’t the real problem that Sansa noted.

_‘Gold and brown… Baratheon colors.’_ A slight crease momentarily developed in her brow.

Jon would not be pleased about it. She wondered if he had seen it yet and if so had he said anything or did he keep his tongue? More than likely he kept silent about it. It seems he still hadn’t forgiven himself for all that transpired. And with as in love with Arya as he still was even after all these years, he likely never would. Never to forgive, never to forget, and always to suffer in silence…

Once she might have chided Arya aloud but Sansa’s own role, though small, still contributed to her siblings’ present circumstances. What she had done was something her sister never knew about. And she was sure Arya would never forgive her for it. It was something she would take to the grave, and the only other person who knew of her “crime” was no longer in this world. Furthermore, it would only cause needless pain to everyone to dredge up the past.

So as Arya approached seemingly deep in thought, Sansa immediately buried her thoughts letting one of the famous Tully smiles grace her face and called out to her sister.

“Your Grace? “ The Queen’s head perked up finally taking notice of Sansa. “I was just on my way to see you. I wasn’t sure if you might have taken ill as you had yet to appear for the morning’s repast and thought to check upon you?” This was her subtle way of saying, ‘ _you’re late_ ’ without being disrespectful to the Queen should any curious ears be nearby.

“Sansa… really?! You know how I feel about you addressing me in such a formal manner.” Of course then there was her sister, whom held no qualms about breaking the propriety of civilized society.

“It is – only appropriate, My Queen,” Sansa answered with a small bow. Hoping her sister would take the hint.

“Haaaaahhh…“ A long relenting sigh escaped Arya’s mouth. “Very well then, _Lady Clegane_. Shall we make our way towards the Great Hall?” Arya’s tone was dry and her eyes held a spark of defiance. Sansa got the feeling she was in for a hard time during their meal. Arya was not generally one to back down from a challenge. She recalled once over-hearing their mother say that to deny Arya anything was to make it her heart’s desire; truer words have never been spoken.  And Sansa had just denied her familial closeness.

As they walked thru the corridors a conspicuous silence settled in between them. Sansa could already sense the wheels turning in Arya’s mind on how to pay her back. Well, at least her sister had out-grown her fondness for the more childish of pranks. She had, hadn’t she!?

Sansa groaned internally at the thought of waking up with horse dung hidden somewhere within her chambers. There was however one way to avoid such a fate. She had to think of a way to subvert Arya’s attentions and fast. Oh, if only she knew her sister the way Jon had…

_‘Jon! Of course…’_

“Arya? Where’s Jon? Wasn’t he meant to be joining us?”

Her sister froze, clearly uncomfortable with the subject of her husband, as she seemed to carefully choose the next words to come out of her mouth. “His Grace… will join us shortly. He was st-”

“Father was still naked when we left him,” Little Eddard piped up then from behind his mother’s skirts. “Right mother?”

“Naked!?” Had she heard that right!?

 Sansa didn’t think her head had ever whipped about so fast before, moving from her young nephew’s face to her younger sister in a split second. And just in time to see a slight flush flash across Arya’s face as her eyes widened.

And for the first time in a very long time she heard that oh so very collected woman ramble out a frantic stutter of “ ** _J-jae-J-Jon, His Grace w-was just risen and was still g-getting dressed when we left him!_** **_…I-is what Ned meant._** ” The blush deepened and Arya refused to meet her eyes.

_‘Well, now… this is a rather interesting and note-worthy development.’_ So very many intriguing things just took place. For starters, when had Arya last called Jon by his bastard-given name? Secondly, since when did Arya color and become embarrassed like a maiden at the mention of a nude man? Especially in regards to Jon… Just what had transpired this morning?! Or perhaps last night…? And as she recalled Arya had been distracted when Sansa had run into her in the hall.

She decided to refrain from questioning her sister, at least for right now, and instead chose to store this little bit of information for a more opportune time. That and considering how Arya had almost immediately started striding down the hall with such a quick pace, there simply was no spare moment to bring up her suspicions. If anything it seemed she had successfully diverted the Queen’s focus from herself.

Sansa toddled after her sister as quickly as any nearly due woman could. Which wasn’t very fast at all and left her quite a few paces behind as Arya was entering through the doors to the Great Hall. That’s when she noticed a small, warm hand take hers. It seemed her nephew couldn’t match his mother’s tread either without running.

“It’s okay to take your time, Aunt Sansa. Running is bad for the baby. That’s what Maester Sam was saying.” Little Eddard smiled up at her with such ease that once again she recalled Robb.

She smiled back at him and slowed to more manageable stroll. “Very wise, sweet one. Thank you.”

A moment later they were walking through the now open doors of the dining hall, when she glimpsed a scene that felt out of time.

Before her, Arya stood as still and ashen as statue. It seems Lord Davos had finally returned from his visit to his residence at Storm’s End. Such news would’ve been joyous were it not for the fact that he had not returned alone.

Bowing just behind Lord Davos were two cloaked but not hooded figures. One female and one male. The woman was standing just in front of the man as Davos introduced the pair to Arya. She must’ve been the more important of the two, but it wasn’t the woman that caught Sansa off-guard despite her disfigurement. No, it was the man in the back that held her and Arya’s gaze. It was that man with his all too familiar face that caused a massive sense of dread to form in the pit of her stomach. Because it just couldn’t be… it shouldn’t have been possible. Not after all these years.

Tall and broad with dark hair and piercing deep-blue eyes. Arya was transfixed and so was she. _Gendry…_

Sansa tightened her grip on the young boy holding her hand and led him to stand just behind her skirts as she slowly made her way towards her sister. She needed clarification as to what was going on.

However, just as she stepped up behind Arya, that was the moment Jon chose to grace them with his presence. Arya was the first to notice him, turning to look her husband in the face. Jon must’ve noticed the look on Arya’s face because just as quickly as her sister had turned his way, Jon’s mirrored Arya’s as he saw what they all did.

“Ah! Your Majesty,” Lord Davos called out. “I’m sorry to spring this surprise on you, but this i-“

“Lord Commander!” It was the woman who called out. “I mean, Your Grace.” She curtsied before continuing. “I don’t know if you remember me but I’m -“

“Shireen Baratheon.” It seems Jon had regained some of his composure and was now making his way towards them still not taking his eyes off the man whose head remained bowed. “I remember. The last time I saw you was at the Wall. Many years ago. _Never_ to return.” Jon’s voice was almost forceful and a little threatening. Perhaps, “commanding” was a better descriptor.

“Yes, and you were saving my life. Something of which I am eternally grateful for,“ she returned graciously, oblivious to the tension in the air. “And yes, I truly intended to never again step foot on Westeros’ soil… However, I have a come seeking your favor as only you are capable of helping me.”

“And what is it you believe only I can help you with?”

Lady Shireen Baratheon stepped forward and removed her cloak to reveal a lightly protruding stomach. _‘Pregnant.’_ The Lady Shireen was pregnant. Sansa had a vague recollection of hearing once that Stannis Baratheon’s heir could not conceive due to a disease she contracted as a child. And thus, he had no true heir. She supposed, looking at the dark and rough patch of skin on the woman’s face that the illness had been greyscale. And so no, Shireen Baratheon should not have been able to be pregnant. Yet, here she stood before them all declaring an impossible conception.

“You’re with child,” Jon announced, clearly as dumbfounded as Sansa.

“We are, Your Highness,” a deep voice declared. It was _him_. The man that had left them all bewildered had finally spoken and all eyes were now on him. ‘ _Gendry_ …’ Arya’s dead lover and the true father of her child. Except something was off… it truly couldn’t be him. Gendry was dead. Sansa had seen the body herself. So if this was not Gendry – then who was he???

“And you are…?” Jon’s voice came out coarse; like it was grating over hundreds of jagged stones. His tone matched his expression, black as the moonless night. If this was Jon’s visage then she could only imagine Arya’s. Her sister was before Sansa allowing her naught but a view of a rigid back.

Sansa noticed suddenly that her hand was hurting and that’s when she remembered the tiny hand of young boy who likely yet to see such a severe countenance from his father. She glanced down at her little nephew who looked near to tears as he studied the man he called ‘Father.’ It seems she judged right. Eddard had thus far not seen Jon’s more ruthless nature. She wasn’t sure anyone had seen it in quite some time.

But as though still unaware of the negative atmosphere, Lady Shireen swiftly and cheerily piped in with an explanation. “Your Grace, please allow me to formally introduce my cousin and father of my yet to be born child, Edric Storm.”

“Storm? So you’re a bastard then? Judging from your looks you are of Baratheon seed, yes? She said ‘cousin’ so you can’t be Stannis’ and you’re far too old to have been Lord Renly’s. So that must make you one of Robert’s?” Jon barraged the man with questions sounding slightly relieved. But he still maintained that hard-edge to his features.

“Yes, Your Majesty. From my understanding I’m the last of Robert’s _acknowledged_ bastards,” Edric Storm met Jon’s scrutinizing gaze head on, a hint of pride in his voice that was usually only found in trueborn sons.

_‘It’s good that you didn’t back down from Jon’s challenge, Edric Storm,’_ thought Sansa. _‘Jon will have more respect for you.’_

“I see. And what it is you hope to request of me,” Jon questioned as he turned his attentions back to Lady Shireen.

“Umm, please forgive me for interrupting, My King, but perhaps this is a conversation for a… more _private_ setting,” Lord Davos suggested.

“Very well. Lady Shireen, I’m sure you and your companion have had a long journey and would like to rest in your chambers for the remainder of the day.” It was not a query or a suggestion. “I’ll have someone see to getting you settled and we can discuss this _favor_ on the ‘morrow.”

“If it pleases you, Your Grace, I’ll see to their accommodations,” Davos replied.

Jon gave a curt nod dismissing the trio. When they’d withdrawn from the hall, Sansa let out a long exhale allowing her shoulders to sag a bit. She was relieved that some of the tension had left the room, but this sinking feeling remained with her.

Somehow, Sansa had a feeling this was not over by a long shot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... long chapter... much longer than I initially planned. It was only supposed to end up around no more than 1500 words. So much for that lol. Did any of you guess that the mystery peeps were Edric and Shireen? Well, maybe Edric but I suppose probably not Shireen cause she was killed off in the show. But not here! Cause, SCREW the Double Douches!!! 
> 
> Also, why can't Little Ned be real?! And why can't I adopt him??? Cause honestly, I was cracking up while writing that scene of him embarrassing Arya! That scene wasn't actually supposed to be in there but well I received some inspiration recently on the blunt honesty of kids from my own nieces lol. BTW, Ned is the number one shipper of Jonrya in this story! XD
> 
> Speaking of... Sansa... does she ship it or not??? I genuinely couldn't tell ya! It's still to early for even me to say! o_O But at the moment, she does have a misunderstanding going on about Jon & Arya now thanks to Little Ned ;D
> 
> Hope you guys have a happy holiday(s) and I'll see ya in the next chapter which won't be out until after the New Years! Cause I need a break from writing for a bit. Between this and Secret Santa and real life shenanigans... I'm beat.
> 
> Love Y'all,  
> Bye for Now! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this fic and sorry if I make you cry. Just know that I've probably made myself cry too.


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